"Come fill up my cup,Come fill up my can;Come saddle my horsesAnd call up my men."
"Come fill up my cup,Come fill up my can;Come saddle my horsesAnd call up my men."
And when "The Campbells are Coming" echoed out of that rock-walled cave, Winn could hear the bagpipes in the distance and see the dauntless hosts of fair Scotland marching to battle.
When after an hour, during which Mona sat with lithe body swaying to the measure of her music, rounded cheek pressed tenderly to her instrument, and her eyes closed, as if lost to the world, she came to that old utterance of love, sweet "Annie Laurie," Winn was enthralled as never in his life before. And when the last exquisite note had floated out of the cave and into the sad monotone of the ocean, and Mona paused, his eyes were dimmed with tears.
"Miss Hutton," he said earnestly, brushing them away, "no words of mine can tell you how much I have enjoyed this treat or with what rare feeling you have played. If you could play as you have here before an audience they would bury you under flowers and lavish wealth upon you."
These were warm words, and without doubt at the moment Winn felt all they meant, but he little realized what an influence they would instil into the heart of Mona Hutton or what fruit they were destined to bear.
"Who was that wonderful woman you told me about the other day?" asked Mona, making no response to his flattering words. "I did not know women ever played in public."
"Oh, yes, they do," answered Winn, "and there are many like her who have gained fame and riches. You could if you would set about it and had the courage to do it. You would have to study, of course, under a teacher and learn to play classical music."
"And what is classical music?" asked Mona.
"It is what no one understands, though many claim to; or perhaps better described as soulless sound," answered Winn. "I do not care for it. There is no feeling, no pulse, no heart in it."
"Then why is the world willing to pay for it?" she asked.
"The world is ready to buy anything that comes high," he answered, "and the more in proportion to its value that is asked, the quicker they will buy it. But do not ask about the world, Miss Hutton. It is not in harmony with this spot. We are out of it here."
Mona looked at him curiously. "You are a queer man," she said suddenly, "and at first I was very much afraid of you."
Winn laughed. "You need not be," he replied, "I never harmed man, woman, or child." Then as a sudden thought came to him he added, "Did you tell your mother you met me here the other day?"
"No," she replied, looking confused and coloring. It was on her lips to say that she dreaded a scolding if she did, but she restrained herself.
"It is time you were starting home," he said suddenly, looking at his watch, "and I am so sorry," and rising he added, "you must pardon me for saying so, but I think you had best mention to your mother you met me here, by accident of course. If you do not, and if she hears of it, she will think it strange." When he had assisted her down the rocky pathway and up the steep sides, the while carrying her precious violin, and they reached the brink of the chasm, he paused.
The gorge was all in shadow, the wind fallen away, and only the long sweeping ground swells caught and mirrored the red glow of the sun now almost at the horizon line. For a moment Winn looked out over the broad ocean and then turned to the girl beside him.
"Little one," he said gently, "I thank you for the confidence you have placed in me by coming here and for the pleasure you have given me. I shall never forget it. There are two favors I want you to grant me, the first to let me call you Mona, the next to come here some day again and play for me. Will you?"
"I will unless mother forbids," she answered simply.
And then as they turned toward the village, he carrying the green bag and still retaining the hand he clasped to assist her out of the chasm, and guiding her footsteps along the way, a new and exalted sense of happiness came to her. But little was said by either, for she like a timid child waited for him to speak, and he was so hushed by the mood of the afternoon in the gorge, and the blessed unity of sea and sky and sunset here, he enjoyed silence best.
When they came in sight of the village he released her hand, and when her home was reached handed her the bag, and with a whispered "good night, Mona," passed on.
When Winn passed out of Rockhaven the next morning, Mona was in her dooryard kneeling beside a bed of flowers, her face shaded by a checked calico sunbonnet. At the gate he paused.
"Good morning, little girl," he said pleasantly, "do I get a flower for my good looks this morning?" Had Mona been a cultured society girl she would have replied in the same coin, instead she merely answered his greeting and plucking one each of a half dozen kinds, still moist with the dew, handed them to him. And he looked into the wondrous eyes raised to his, saw a new light lingering in them, and smiling softly as he took the flowers he thanked her and went his way.
And strange to say, when he reached the quarry, he hid that little nosegay in a shaded nook beside the ledge where a tiny spring dripped out, and when he returned that noon, carried them wrapped in a wet handkerchief to his room and left them in a glass of water. And that night when the vexation and cares of the day had passed, he, a little homesick and with the charm of Mona's playing still lingering in his mind, held communion with himself. And the cause was the following missive which had reached him:—
"Dear Mr. Hardy:"I was surprised a few days ago when your aunt told me you had left the city to be manager of the Rockhaven Granite Co., and had gone away to some unheard of island. I had missed seeing you for a week, and when you were not at church with your aunt, asked her what had become of you. When she told me where you were it seemed likely you would be glad to hear from home, and as I am aware your worthy aunt hates letter writing, I thought I would be good to you. There isn't a bit of news to write, and the city is getting positively unbearable."Mother and I are getting ready to go to the mountains; we shall start early in July and your aunt goes with us. I presume from what she said you will remain where you are this summer. I almost envy you, for it certainly must be cool there, and no doubt you have or will find some sweet fishermaid to flirt with. Grace is not going with us for she says a baby is a nuisance at a hotel and then 'hubby' can't afford it. I saw Jack (your chum) the other evening at the Bijou with a girl who was stunning, also Mabel Weston and her mother."I do not know of anything else that will interest you except my address for the summer, which I enclose, and the hope that you won't forget us all before your return."Yours sincerely,"Ethel Sherman."
"Dear Mr. Hardy:
"I was surprised a few days ago when your aunt told me you had left the city to be manager of the Rockhaven Granite Co., and had gone away to some unheard of island. I had missed seeing you for a week, and when you were not at church with your aunt, asked her what had become of you. When she told me where you were it seemed likely you would be glad to hear from home, and as I am aware your worthy aunt hates letter writing, I thought I would be good to you. There isn't a bit of news to write, and the city is getting positively unbearable.
"Mother and I are getting ready to go to the mountains; we shall start early in July and your aunt goes with us. I presume from what she said you will remain where you are this summer. I almost envy you, for it certainly must be cool there, and no doubt you have or will find some sweet fishermaid to flirt with. Grace is not going with us for she says a baby is a nuisance at a hotel and then 'hubby' can't afford it. I saw Jack (your chum) the other evening at the Bijou with a girl who was stunning, also Mabel Weston and her mother.
"I do not know of anything else that will interest you except my address for the summer, which I enclose, and the hope that you won't forget us all before your return.
"Yours sincerely,"Ethel Sherman."
"Yours sincerely,"Ethel Sherman."
And this from the girl who two short years before had laughed his marriage proposal to scorn.
And he was like to find some simple fishermaid to flirt with, was he? And the cool indifference to that fact; and the covert, yet openly expressed invitation for him to write to her.
Now Winn Hardy was not blind, and in spite of the two years, during which he had never met or thought of Ethel Sherman without a pin-prick in his heart, clear and distinct in his mind was the alluring glance of her blue eyes that had led him to make a fool of himself, and the red ripe temptation of her lips he had once stolen kisses from. And now she was inviting him to write to her. And not two rods away was a girl as simple and sweet as the daisies that bloomed in a meadow, as utterly unsophisticated as though reared within convent walls, with eyes like deep waters, and a soul trembling with passionate music!
For one hour Winn communed with himself, glancing attentively at the little knot of flowers on a small table near him, and the letter beside them, and then arose and putting on his hat, left the house. It was a still summer evening with the crescent of a new moon glinting in the waters of Rockhaven harbor and outlining the spectral shape of the tower on Norse Hill. To this Winn turned his steps, and seating himself where he could look over the undulating ocean, continued his meditation.
All his life, since the day he first entered the office of Weston & Hill, came to him. All the many snubs he had received, all the disappointments he had met, all the weeks, months, and years of monotonous drudgery in that office, all the "fool's paradise" hours he had passed with Ethel Sherman, all the harsh bitterness he had heard from the lips of Jack Nickerson—and now the new life, new ambition, and new influence that had come to him—passed in review. And as he leisurely puffed his cigar, looking the while out upon the boundless expanse that, like an eternity, lay before him, he saw himself as he was, and knew that as a man of honor and for his own peace of mind, he must choose between two ways. That he could not escape the island for months and perhaps for years, he saw clearly, and if he remained, as remain he must if he were to win success in this new project, he must inevitably become one and a part of the social and hard-working life of the people with whom he mingled, sharing their hopes and encouraging their ambitions. And if he did, could he go on holding himself aloof from all tender impulses, living the life of a recluse, as inflexible as the granite he quarried, and as void of sentiment?
Winn Hardy besides being impulsive was endowed with a vein of romance, and saw and felt the poetic side of all things. The whispers of winds in the pine trees, flowers that grew wild in out of the way nooks, birds singing, bees gathering honey, squirrels hiding their winter store of nuts, the sea in all its moods, clouds sailing across a summer sky and all that was beautiful in nature appealed to him. This island whose frowning cliffs faced the ocean billows so defiantly, the placid harbor with its rippled sandy shore, the old tide mill an ancient ruin, the dark thickets of spruce between the rolling ledges of granite, and the weird gorge where this girl had hid herself, each and all seemed to him as so many bits of poetry. Then the peculiar and romantic fact of her going to such a picturesque spot, out of sight and sound of even the island people, and beyond that the wonderful sweetness and pathos of her simple music, all appealed to him as to but few. It was as if he felt in her a kinship of soul, an echo of his own poetic nature, a response to his own ideals in life, with a face like a flower, lips like two rosebuds, and eyes like a Madonna.
For a long time he sat there in communion with his own needs and nature, sobered by the silence of night and eternity so near him. When he arose, turning back toward the village, he paused on the brow of the hill, looking down upon it still and silent in the faint moonlight. Away to the right and pointing skyward, he saw the little spire of the church whose bell had recalled his early boyhood days and all the sweet and pure influences they had contained, even the face of his own mother, he knew he should never look upon again. And with that recollection came the half-pitiful words he had heard in that church that seemed like a plea for help from starvation.
Winn was not religious. He had never been drawn toward an open profession of faith. He had at first felt church going and Sabbath-school lessons an irksome task, and later a social custom, useful because it bound together congenial people. He believed in God but not in prayer. His heart was in sympathy with all the carnal needs of humanity, but not the spiritual; those he considered figments of the imagination, useful, maybe, when old age came, but needless during healthy, active life. To the customary observance of them he always yielded respectful attention, but felt not their influence. And musing there it came to him that perhaps some divine power had directed his footsteps and brought him into the lives of these simple honest people for a purpose not understood.
When he reached his room it was fragrant with the flowers Mona had given him that morning, and beside them lay the letter of Ethel Sherman.
It has been said of the modern young lady that the more of her home life a gentleman saw, the less likely he was to fall in love with her; but as the days sped by and Winn saw more of Mona's, he felt that that truism was likely to be reversed.
Then another natural result was attained, for finding his mission there a practical one and the money he distributed each Saturday night a powerful argument in his favor, the islanders, from Rev. Jason Bush downward, began to show their cordial interest in his presence. On Sundays when he with Jess, Mrs. Hutton, and Mrs. Moore and Mona usually formed a little group that walked together to church, in that modest sanctuary he was the one most observed. All to whom he had been introduced seemed to seek an opportunity to bow, and many of the men, whose names he had not learned, showed the same courtesy. When he walked out after the service, old and young would stand aside for him to pass. The Rev. Jason Bush perhaps showed the most interest, and in a purely business way, for when he had opportunities (and he found many) it was the quarry and its management and prospects which he was desirous of discussing, instead of the spiritual welfare of Winn, as might be expected. In fact, the latter was never mentioned, and although Mr. Bush lamented that Rockhaven was divided into two sects, and that neither church had a following sufficient to support it, it was here again the business side of the matter which seemed uppermost in that worthy parson's mind.
But it was the cordiality shown by Mrs. Hutton on all possible occasions that interested Winn most, because it appealed to the domestic and home-loving side of his nature. He had never known much of home life since maturity, for his aunt was not a home-maker, leaving that to her servants and scolding because they failed, and to see what thought and care could do in that direction, even though in a modest way, attracted him. And since her door appeared always open to him and an unfailing welcome waiting, he would have been less than human had he not availed himself of the opportunity. Hardly an evening passed that he did not see or speak with either mother or daughter, and occasionally made one at their table. It was here that Jess was often in evidence, usually eating his dinner there—always on Sunday. Then again, as the grass-grown dooryard of his domicile adjoined the flower-filled one of Mrs. Hutton, by some occult process a freshly cut bunch of roses, sweet peas or pinks, found its way to his room each day. It was a trifle, perhaps, but it is such trifles that make up home life.
And Mona herself, now that her timidity had worn away to a certain extent, began to grow upon him. He had, from the evening when he communed with himself in solitude, continually treated her with a sort of big brother consideration; but as he saw more of her and realized the limitations of her life, so small in comparison with her aspirations; how day by day she lived, feeling herself a prisoner on the island, with no one there who understood her except Jess, a little bud of pity started in Winn's heart, and the temptation that assailed him that day in the cave grew stronger.
"If I should feel the witchery of her playing in that romantic spot a few times," he said to himself, "I should fall in love with her, and couldn't help it."
But temptations of that nature are hard to resist, and like sweet potations, once tested, we desire to sip again. So it came about that one morning Winn said to her: "Mona, I am going to treat myself to a half day away from the quarry, and if your mother is willing, I want you to visit the gorge with me this afternoon and bring your violin. I would rather you asked her consent," he added pointedly, "I shall enjoy it better."
As this perfect June afternoon and its enjoyment had much to do with shaping the heart histories of these two young people, considerable space can well be devoted to it, and especially to their exchange of ideas and feelings.
"I will let you carry the violin now," said Winn, when they had left the village out of sight, "I want to gather a few wild roses to decorate your trysting place. I have odd fancies about such things and believe, as the Greeks did, that every cave and grotto is inhabited by some nymph or gnome. From the way your playing there has affected me each time, I am sure it is some beautiful nymph who has chosen the Devil's Oven for her abode, so I am going to present her with a nosegay."
"I have read about fairies," responded Mona, artlessly, "but I do not believe such creatures ever existed."
"But they do," asserted Winn, smiling, as he gathered his roses, "and if your imagination is strong enough, you can feel their presence many times. I made sure there was one hid somewhere, that day I first heard you playing."
"And did you think so when you hid behind the rock and scared me half to death?" she queried.
"No," he responded, "I knew it was a real flesh and blood fairy then, for I had seen you come out of the gorge."
"And so you came back to scare me," she said playfully, "that wasn't nice. If you wanted to know who it was, why didn't you ask Uncle Jess? He would have told you."
"Yes, and spoiled all the romance of it," answered Winn. "It's like detecting the presence of nymphs and fairies. If you go to a grotto or cave alone and listen for them, you will feel or hear them always, in some way."
"If I believed that," replied Mona, seriously, "I would never go to the cave alone again. I should feel it to be haunted."
"But you admit you can play better there, and feel more of the spirit of your music," asserted Winn; "tell me why that is."
"Because I am alone, and feel myself to be so," she answered firmly. "I do not believe it is due to any unseen creature."
"But you played with wondrous feeling the day I came there with you," he replied, "you weren't alone then."
"I am glad you think so," she answered, turning away, "I tried to, but was so afraid of you, I trembled."
Winn smiled at her candor. "You don't know how to flirt, do you, Mona?" he asked pointedly, "you utter the truth always."
"Does flirting consist of deception?" she asked, looking earnestly at him.
"Yes," he answered, "and of the most adroit kind. It's the weapon that all world-wise women use to enslave men, and the more skilled they are at it, the more assured is their success."
"Do men ever deceive?" she queried, her fathomless eyes still on him.
"Yes, little girl," he answered, looking away and out over the ocean and resolving to be sincere, "men are the same as women in that respect; some do it in self-defence, and others out of selfishness. Then once in a while, one will never do it, except out of kindness. Such men are usually imposed upon."
When they reached the brink of the chasm he took her hand. "I am so afraid you will slip in going down," he said, "and if you were hurt, I should never forgive myself." He retained it down the steep path and up the devious way to the cave. When it was reached she seated herself and said, smiling at him, "Now you are here, let me see you give your flowers to the fairy."
For answer he gallantly touched them with his lips and handed them to her. "You are the fairy who lives here," he said, "for I shall never think of this spot without seeing you in it."
Mona colored a little and then a shade crossed her face. "Isn't that deception?" she said. "You do not mean it."
"I mean to say every nice thing I can think of to-day," he answered, "and do all I can to make you enjoy it. A truly happy hour is a rare experience in life, and I want to find one for you." Then, taking his cigar case out and stretching himself on one side of the cave, he added: "I wish we had brought some cushions. I will, the next time we come."
"I do not think how hard the rock is," she answered; "when I am playing I forget where I am, even."
"Well, forget it quick," he said, "so I can. Only do not play 'Annie Laurie' till the last thing. You brought a mist to my eyes with it the other day. It's a sweet bit, full of tears."
And then, not heeding his pleasantries, many of which she did not understand, Mona drew her dearly loved brown fiddle out of its case, and once more that uncanny den in the rocks echoed to its magic. A medley of old-time ballads, jigs, reels, and dance music came forth in succession, while Winn, forgetting his cigar, yielded to her music and watched her lissom body encased in blue flannel, open at the throat, swaying slightly as she played, her winsome face turned from him in profile and eyes closed at times. Once only, when a certain air recalled the past, did he think of the woman who had scorned him, and whose letter was still unanswered.
"Do not play any more now," he said finally, when Mona paused, "you must be tired."
"I must have tired you of it," she answered bluntly, "and I am glad. I want to hear you talk and tell me about fairies and the great city where you lived, and about that woman who played before people. I wish I could learn to play as you say she did."
"Oh, there's not much to tell about fairies," he answered, smiling at her earnestness, "they are merely imaginary and used to amuse children. Many years ago, when the world was young, people believed in and worshipped them as gods and goddesses; now they are poetic fancies."
"What are poetic fancies?" she asked, understanding him only partially.
"Well, for instance," he answered, "a poet would describe this gorge as a way through the cliff carved by Neptune, and this cave a shelter the mermaids sought to comb their tresses and sing the songs of the sea. Of old every cascade and grotto was believed to be inhabited by nymphs and gnomes, every grove by wood sprites and brownies. If they saw a brook rippling over the pebbles in the sunlight, they said it was elfins dancing; and in autumn when the fallen leaves blew over the hilltops, it was the brownies holding carnival."
"I do not believe such creatures ever did exist," she replied, "but I shall enjoy coming here all the better for having heard about them."
Then as if she already looked to him as a source of all information, she added, "Tell me about the women in your city who ride in carriages and wear beautiful dresses."
A shade of annoyance crossed his face. "I would rather tell you about the fairies, little girl," he answered bitterly; "the women in my world are mostly charming liars. They live to outshine each other in dress, they utter pretty speeches that are false, they go to church to show off their raiment and come back to sneer at what others wear, they consider a man as eligible for a husband solely because he has money, and if he tells them the truth, call him a fool. I do not admire them much, Mona, and the less you know of them the better woman you will grow to be, and the better wife you will make some man."
Mona flushed slightly and raising her eyes and looking full at him, responded, "Do all the men in your world despise women as you do, and is there not among them one who is good and tender and truthful?"
Winn remained silent a moment, for the delicate reproach of her words was unexpected.
"There may be some," he answered evasively at last, "but I have never met them and a man is apt to judge all women by those he has known."
"And if there is now and then one among them who is not false-hearted," continued Mona, "is she not respected and loved for it?"
"She might be by some," he answered doubtfully, "but most would call her stupid."
"Would the men call her stupid?" persisted Mona.
"Some of them would," he answered, smiling at her earnestness, "but most of them would take advantage of it. World-wise men grow to be selfish." Then, as if the subject was distasteful, or her inquiries too pointed, he added, "Do you know what love is, Mona, and have you never had a lover among the young fishermen here?"
"T have read about it," she answered with perfect sincerity, and smiling at her own thought, "but I've never had much for any of the boys I've known; they smell too fishy."
This time Winn laughed heartily. "And is your nose the by-road to your heart?" he asked.
"It may be," she replied, also laughing, "if I have one."
It was the first coquettish word she had so far uttered, and Winn did not like it.
"That does not sound like you, Mona," he replied soberly, "your greatest charm, and it is a charm, is sincerity. When you speak that way you remind me of the ladies in my world, and I do not like them."
"And if I am always truthful," she said, "you will call me simple, won't you?"
"No, I told you I admired that in you," he said, "but you have not answered my question, Mona. Have you never had a lover?"
"I have had two or three," she replied again, looking sober, "at least they said they loved me, but I did not return it."
And as Winn looked at the girlish figure, just showing the rounded curves of womanhood beneath its close-fitting blue flannel gown, and at the pansy face with eyes like one of those purple petals, fixed on him, he, manlike, thought how sweet it would be to moisten them with the dew of love's light and feel the touch of her velvety lips.
But should he try for that prize, and did he want it, if he could win it?
The lowering sun had thrown the shadows of the spruce trees adown the gorge, the wind scarce ruffled the ocean and only the low lullaby of its undulations crept up the ravine. It was the parting of day and night, the good-by of sunshine, the peace of summer twilight.
"Now, Mona," he half whispered, as if fearing to scare the mermaids away, "play 'Annie Laurie'!"
And lost to the world, he watched her bending over and caressing that old brown fiddle, even as a mother would press her baby's face to her own, again and once again came that whisper of a love that never dies, a refrain that holds the pathos of life and parting in its chords, a love cry centuries old, as sweet as heaven, as sad as death.
"Come, little girl," he said, rising suddenly when only the ocean's whisper reached his ears, "it's time to go home." And as, clasping her hand, and in silence leading her out of the gorge, he noticed when one of the roses she carried from the cave fell among the rocks, she stooped and picked it up.
There is in this land of the free, where all men are created equal (on paper), a class of financial sharpers, whose ambition and sole occupation is to secure for themselves the wealth of others by the most occult and far-reaching scheming ever evolved by human brain. They toil not, neither do they produce, yet Satan with all his archness is not equipped like one of these. There is no taint of illegality in their methods, they are outwardly the best of men, heralded by the press as great financiers, railroad magnates, oil, copper, and iron kings, praised by the rich and toadied to by the poor. They are envied by many, lauded by editors who seek advertisements, and (if they contribute liberally) praised by college presidents and preachers alike. Political fortunes are turned by their nod, laws enacted in their aid, the code of morals shaded in their favor, club doors opened, and society bowing low whichever way they turn. Only the toiling millions whose lives are one long fight against poverty think or speak ill of them, and such are not considered. Those magnates of extortion so colossal that it is legal, have one trite expression that contains their contempt for the millions who envy, and that is, "The public be d——d."
Of their operation on the chess board of finance little need be said. It is known, or at least its results are, to high or low, rich or poor. These octopuses, or rather human sharks, organize trusts, corner every necessity of life where conditions will permit; buy bankrupt railroads, inflate their stock, boom it by systematic deception and then unload it at top prices on the countless flocks of lambs ever ready to buy what is dear, and who never by any known process can be induced to buy what is cheap.
And those are financiers!
There is another class, usually with less money, but equal in brains and audacity, who have come to be known as promoters. Relatively speaking they should be called dogfish. They would be financiers if they could, but lacking capital to buy railroads, or corner everything on the earth, except water, they merely organize schemes and sell stock. How many, and how varied those are, it is waste of space to specify. All that the patient reader need do is consult the pages of any or all city dailies and read the tempting list of schemes there to be found. All are alike in the main, for all offer safe investments, sure and ample returns, indorsed by names that glitter, and promise everything under the sun,—except to return your money if you do not get value promised.
Of this class was J. Malcolm Weston.
He had organized two or three glittering bubbles before the firm of Weston & Hill was established, but from lack of capital failed to reap the hoped-for reward. Then along came Hill, a retired manufacturer, whose history shall be given in due time, who had more money than brains and more conceit than either. Weston, a shrewd and smooth-tongued schemer, reading Hill at a glance, was not long in flattering that gullible man into a partnership and taking him and his money into camp, as it were. For a time, and while Winn Hardy was serving apprenticeship, the firm conducted a fairly honest and respectable business. They bought and sold stocks and bonds of all kinds, that is, they sold and then bought to fill orders only,—a species of commission business perfectly safe, but not satisfying to Weston. He longed to soar, to organize a great scheme, a glittering bubble, to see his name in print as a king of finance, and do it on other people's money—and Hill's.
Then one day, while off with his broker, Simmons, on the latter's steam yacht, visiting various north coast islands, the impulse culminated.
"Why not buy one of these islands," said Simmons, "and start a quarry company? You can buy one for a song and a granite-quarrying industrysoundssafe and will catch the cautious. I am intending to build a fine residence in the near future, and you can furnish me the stone. In return, I'll market stock enough to pay for it. We can find an island with a harbor and buy it, or a part, which is all that is needful, and you can do the rest." And thus the scheme was hatched, and when J. Malcolm Weston, the to-be great financier, returned to the city, he was sole owner of Jess Hutton's unused quarry and the Rockhaven Granite Company was born.
It took time, however, for Hill was a cautious man, holding on to his purse-strings with the grip of death, and Weston must needs approach him circuitously. Then there were outsiders to warm up, as it were, men of some financial standing whose names were of value, to interest; a charter to be obtained, and all the legal and business detail necessary to the carrying out of a scheme to be attended to. It also needed all of Weston's plausible arguments to perfect the plot, and summer came around again before the conspiracy was ready to be launched. Then "the street" was cautious, and knowing Weston's reputation in the past, was not eager, or even willing, to buy this stock. At first, a few credulous people like Winn's aunt and two or three others who believed in Weston bought small lots, and the men whose names appeared on the prospectus were each and all given stock in due ratio to their prominence. And then Simmons began his fine work. He knew, and so did Weston, that every share they had given away would be offered for sale as soon as a price for it had been established "on 'change" and then the scheme would fall flat. But Simmons had ideas of his own. "We must wait," he said, "until your man Hardy has shipped us one or two loads of granite, then herald that fact repeatedly in the papers until the dear confiding public don't know whether one or ten shiploads have arrived, and then—declare a dividend!"
It was not long after, and when Winn Hardy, the honest dupe that he was, was either zealously striving to push the Rockhaven Granite Company interests toward success, or thinking about what fine eyes Mona Hutton had, that theMarket Newscontained the following item:—
"The first load of granite destined for the new and palatial residence which Richard Simmons, the well-known broker, is about to build, has arrived. It came from the Rockhaven Granite Company's quarries on an island they own, which produces the finest quality of building stone obtainable."
A week later this item also appeared in the same financial sheet:—
"It is rumored that all the treasury stock of the Rockhaven Granite Company has been subscribed for and that this enterprising corporation is overwhelmed with orders for their excellent product. This is due to the rapid growth of our beautiful city and the consequent demand for building materials."
And J. Malcolm Weston, after reading them in the privacy of his office, stroked his abundant side whiskers with an admiring caress, while a smile of satisfaction spread over his genial face. It was the beginning of his long-cherished ambition to pose as a great financier and it filled his soul with joy.
"A dozen or more of such items will start the ball rolling in glorious shape," he said to Hill, "and boom Rockhaven to beat the cards."
But Hill, the narrow-minded and close-fisted man that he was, only looked cross, and sourly asked, "What did they cost?"
As the days passed on Winn noticed that more and more interest came to be felt in the Rockhaven Granite Company and his management. And when the first schooner he had chartered to load with quarried stone came into the harbor and alongside the little wharf in front of the quarry, almost a breeze of excitement seemed to ripple through the village. The women whose husbands were working there came down to see the loading, children wanted to climb aboard the vessel, and even the Rev. Jason Bush spent hours watching the massive blocks as they were swung on board. Old Jess Hutton left his store, and the people to help themselves, every afternoon, and perched on a convenient outpost, looked on. Only Mona kept away, and when one evening Winn asked her why, she colored slightly and replied, "It hurts me a little to see that old ledge Uncle Jess used to own being blasted and carried off."
It wasn't her only reason, though a part of it; the rest was of such a nature that Mona kept it locked in her breast. For the good natives of Rockhaven, as well as others, had noticed that Winn always walked with her going and coming from church and had commented upon it, and Mona had heard of their comments.
Winn was not her lover as yet, she felt, and not likely to be. She could not and would not avoid walking and talking with him, but she could avoid seeming to pursue him over to the quarry. It was all due to a remark Mrs. Moore had made in a neighborly way.
"I like Mr. Hardy, right well," she had said one morning when Mona brought in a fresh bunch of June roses and asked that she put them in his room, "an' if I was a young gal like you, I'd set my cap for him. It looks as if you had, a-bringin' him fresh posies, an' if ye keep it up the right way, an' don't let him make too free with ye, ye kin. It 'ud be a great catch for ye if ye did."
After that Mona brought no more flowers for Winn's room, but her mother, observant ever, and world-wise in a way, did so, and Winn never knew the difference.
When the second load of stone had been shipped, and the July sun had begun to shrivel the scanty grass in Mrs. Moore's dooryard, her two sons sailed into the harbor one day to spend a Sunday there. They were browned by the sea-winds and redolent of its crisp odors, and when Winn came back from the quarry at supper time he found them there.
"I hear ye're blowin' up an' carryin' off our island," said David, the oldest, on being introduced, "an' it's a good thing. The rock ain't o' much account an' most on't is in the way. Thar ain't room 'nough 'longside o' the water here to dry fish, let alone settin' up houses."
And that Saturday evening, when Winn, as usual, repaired to the store of Jess Hutton to pay off his men, this swarthy sailor was sitting upon the doorstep of Mrs. Hutton's home, chewing tobacco vigorously and talking to Mona.
The next day, too, dressed in a suit of new clothes that, to use a slang phrase, "could be heard across the island," he boldly and with an air of proprietorship walked beside her to church and seated himself in the same pew.
Winn, who had never taken this liberty, and who sat with Mrs. Moore just to the rear, watched Mona industriously and noticed that once when the young fisherman leaned over to whisper she edged away. All that day not once did Winn exchange a word with her except the "good morning" that was his early greeting, and when evening came he once more lit his cigar and strolled up Norse Hill to commune with himself, for the sight of that swaggering son of Neptune making himself agreeable to Mona was not pleasant. In this respect men are all alike, and whether they want a woman or not, a shadow of the old instinct that existed among the cave dwellers is latent.
It was two days after when the brothers sailed away, and by that time Winn had decided that no matter how interested young Moore was in Mona, she reciprocated no part of it.
And then another, and totally unexpected success in his new life came to him, and that from Jess.
"I've been layin' back 'n' watchin' how things was goin' on," observed that philosopher one evening when they were alone in the store, "an' how ye have behaved yerself, an' I'm goin' to be plain spoken with ye. In the fust place I've made up my mind ye're a good, honest and well-meanin' young man, an' if 'twas goin' ter help ye any, an' if ye are likely to make it yer home here a year or two, I'd buy a few shares of this stock jist ter show ye 'n' yer folks Rockhaven appreciates the wages ye're payin' out. I'm goin' ter ask ye a few questions, an' if matters is all right, I'll take five hundred on't an' mebbe I cud git Cap'n Moore an' Cap'n Roby n' one or two others to buy a leetle. They would if they knew I had."
To say that Winn was surprised was to put it mildly.
"I will gladly answer any question you may ask, Mr. Hutton, and truthfully," he replied. "I know how you feel in regard to this enterprise and how much any one would hate to lose a dollar they invested in our stock. It is because of this that I have not so far asked a soul, not even you, to invest a cent with us, though we are ready and shall be glad to have you. As to how long I shall stay here, that is a matter over which I have no control. I am only a manager for the company. I own some of the stock and draw a fair salary, and if this quarry pays (and I shall do my best to make it) I may stay here for life."
"Is this here Weston wuth a good deal o' money," queried Jess in response, "an' what sort o' man is he reckoned in the city? Is he counted as square an' honest, or a sharper?"
"So far as I know," responded Winn, "he is an honorable business man; and although this quarrying company is like any other enterprise—a venture—I do not think Mr. Weston would have gone into it unless he felt sure of making money."
Jess asked a good many other questions which, with their answers, not being pertinent to the thread of this narrative, need not be quoted. When Winn left him that night, after he had gone over in detail all he knew regarding Weston & Hill and their business, it was with the feeling that he had conquered Rockhaven and its oracle without an effort. He little realized that a far more subtile influence than dividends had interested Jess Hutton, and a desire to conserve matters to the end that Mona might be made the happier, was the motive force that governed him.
"I've noticed," he said a little later to Mrs. Hutton, "that this young man sorter takes to Mona n' she kinder cottons to him. I think it 'ud be a good idee if ye'd jest caution her not to be free with him 'n' kinder hold herself off as it were. These city chaps have a winnin' way with 'em to a gal, n' I'd hate to see her git a heartache out on't." He did not tell Mrs. Hutton he had bought five hundred shares of Rockhaven stock and insisted that Winn also keep the matter a secret.
A week later Winn received the following missive from Jack Nickerson, only a portion of which it is necessary to quote.
"... I hear," he wrote, "that you have captured an island and are sending it here in shiploads according to theMarket News(two clippings of which I enclose). They show the fine Italian hand of Weston or Simmons. I hope you are enjoying yourself and drawing your per annum with promptness and regularity. The street is growing curious as to what deep-laid scheme Weston & Hill are preparing to spring upon it, and Rockhaven stock is not as yet selling to any extent. I saw the gay and festive Weston out driving yesterday and Simmons was with him. They are a pair that will bear watching. I hope they won't play you for a tenderfoot in this new deal. Last week I took a run up to the mountain where Ethel Sherman and her mother are spending the summer. Ethel was, as might be expected, deep in a flirtation with a young idiot in golf clothes and hardly noticed me. Incidentally I heard that he was possible heir to millions."
"What an inveterate scoffer Jack is," was Winn's mental comment on this missive. "He sees no good motive in any one;" and then he re-read the long and flowery letter from Weston received the same time and congratulating him on his excellent work. Also notifying him they had as usual anticipated his pay-roll and expressed sufficient currency to meet it.
And of the two letters the one from Weston seemed to him just then to be honest and business-like, and Jack's as but the sneering of a confirmed cynic.
"They wouldn't be putting good money into this quarry if they did not see a safe and sure return," he thought, and then he took Ethel Sherman's letter that had been lying for weeks unanswered on his table and tore it into shreds.
A few days later he received instructions to make a present of fifty shares of stock to the minister of Rockhaven church, and to assure him that the Company donated it for the good of the cause and to show their cordial interest in the religious welfare of the island. And the Rev. Jason Bush, who never in his life owned more than the humble roof that sheltered him, and whose patient wife turned and dyed her raiment until worthless, marvelled much. And more than that, twenty-four hours had not passed ere every man, woman, and child on the island had been told it, for such unexpected, such astounding liberality seemed nothing short of a miracle.
"Young Hardy's making his mark down on the island," observed J. Malcolm Weston to his partner that morning when they had received notice of the stock purchase made by Jess, "and if the fellow keeps on as he has started the quarry won't stand us out a penny."
"I doubt if he does," responded Mr. Hill, who, be it said, fulfilled the part of a balance wheel to Weston. "From what you have told me there aren't many on the island who have any spare money."
"Oh, you can't always tell by the clothes such jays wear how much they have hid away in old stockings," responded Weston. "Those mossbacks never spend a cent and once they grasp a dollar it passes out of circulation."
"I am surprised Hardy landed this man Hutton for five hundred," said Hill, "and so early in the game."
"I am also," replied Weston, "and if I felt sure that Hardy could be trusted with our plans, I would tell him what our next move is, but I am not. The trouble with him is, he is too honest, and when we begin to throw out bait in the way of advance dividends, he will suspect our game and I am not sure how he will take it."
"Do not think of that yet," replied Hill, "so long as we keep all the cards in our own hands, we know where the joker is, but never afterward."
"I am a good mind to take a ran down to Rockhaven," continued Weston meditatively, "and get better acquainted with this old duffer Hutton and the rest. Also make some of them a present of a little stock, just to interest them. It's the way to catch mackerel and those few shares will return us good results when we declare a dividend."
"Better not," replied the more cautious of the two, "those old fishermen are not fools, and will conclude that if you are willing to give stock away, it's of no value. When we do pay a dividend this Hutton will not keep it a secret and Hardy can then reap the harvest. Besides, he and his honesty must be considered. It won't do to alarm him. He believes the scheme is legitimate, and as he has a finger in the pie, will work for his own end and sell all the stock he can. What I should advise is that we notify him the price is now two dollars per share and let that leaven work as it will. How much stock have we sold already?"
"About six thousand shares," replied Weston, "counting that bought by Hardy."
"And two per cent on the par value of that," continued Hill, figuring on a slip of paper, "would be twelve hundred dollars. I think one per cent enough as a starter and that we should pay it now."
"No," replied the more liberal Weston, "it's not best to pinch in the matter of chum, as the fishermen say, and do things by halves. If we must bait them now let us bait them well."
And bait them well they did, for the next day's issue of theMarket Newscontained the following:—
"It is with pleasure we announce that the Rockhaven Granite Company has declared a dividend of two per cent on the par value of the stock, payable at the office of Weston & Hill. As we stated a short time ago in these columns, this well-known and reliable firm, whose enterprise is now so agreeably proven, do nothing by halves and are only too glad to distribute all profits as soon as accrued. The stock has already doubled in price and we predict will reach par in the near future."
And when Jess Hutton received by mail a check for one hundred dollars as his share of the dividend upon the par value of five hundred shares and the parson one for ten, Rockhaven began to get excited, and all who had a dollar to invest made haste to call upon Winn. Captain Doty bought one hundred shares, Captain Moore, uncle to David the irrepressible, the same, a few others lesser amounts, and to cap the climax, poor hard-working Mrs. Moore, Winn's landlady, came to him.
"I've got a little money laid away in the savin's bank ashore," she said, "an' it's only drawin' four cents a dollar, which ain't much. If you thinks it's safe mebbe I'd best take some out an' buy some o' this stock. They all tell me it's payin' and like to go up."
And that night, in the seclusion of his own room, as Winn Hardy thought matters over, and realized how this speculative excitement was starting on Rockhaven, just a faint suspicion that the golden apple might be rotten at the core came to him. As was his way when he wanted to think and think hard, he at once betook himself out of sight and sound of even that quiet village, and hied away to the top of Norse Hill. Here he lit a cigar and planted himself beside the strange structure there, the history of which no one knew.
And how solemn and silent the still summer evening seemed, and how like eternity the boundless ocean faintly visible in the starlight. Only its low murmur at the foot of the cliff and just a faint breeze redolent of its salty zest reached him. And of Weston & Hill and this new outcome?
He had worked and talked to this end; he had hoped for it, striving to bring it about, and now that the quarry was each day a busy hive of workers, the third vessel load of quarried stone nearly all on board and ready to ship, the entire island agog over this new industry, and not only willing but anxious to invest their hard-earned savings in Rockhaven stock, and a prosperous outcome to his ambition in sight, Winn hesitated.
And the more he ground the grist of Weston & Hill's scheme in his mind there beside the old stone tower, the less he liked it and the deeper the germ of suspicion took root. And the cause of it all was the two per cent dividend!
Winn Hardy, though a country-born boy and lacking in worldly experience, as well as education, was no fool. He knew that two shiploads of granite, though sold at a fabulous price, would not pay a profit equal to half the cost the quarry had so far been, to say nothing of a dividend, and the only conclusion was not flattering to his firm's honesty. Then one by one, every little detail of the entire affair; every instruction they had given; the stock they had presented to him; the letters they had written; the donation to the parson; Jack Nickerson's innuendoes; and now this unreasonable payment of dividends which he knew were not earned,—all passed in review. Honest himself, he was slow to suspect dishonesty in others, but the longer and more carefully he weighed these facts in his mind the plainer he saw the word "fraud" written on each one of them.
And he had put every dollar of the few he had saved into this stock and borrowed some besides! And worse than that; this honest old fellow Jess, out of good will to him had put five hundred in and persuaded others to invest also!
Suspicion is like sailing in a fog; we cannot tell where clear air ends and fog begins, only the first we know the air seems damp and chill, the sun obscured and danger near. And so with Winn, there on Rockhaven, with his vocation and paths in life all mapped out, these people looking toward him as a benefactor and ready to trust him with their money and the sun of success shining! And all at once the air seemed chill with the fog of deceit and fraud, and he knew not where he was. To refuse those who would buy more stock, he dare not, since it would awaken suspicion; to accept it was as bad, for it compromised him the deeper. For a long hour he tried to think a way for himself out of this fog, and the more he thought the more positive his suspicion grew, and then he returned to his abode. And there in Rock Lane and as if to increase his burden of responsibility, was Mona sitting in the porch of her humble home alone.
"Why, little girl," he said softly, pausing at the gate, "are you not abed and asleep?"
And Mona, unconscious of how or in what way it would strike him, and in the utter innocence of her heart, came quickly out to where he was standing.
"I was lonesome," she said simply, "and waiting for you to come back. I saw you go up the hill and wondered what for." And Winn, despondent and worried as he was, and looking down into the sweet face and earnest eyes upraised to him, felt their tender sympathy wondrously sweet.
"I went up there to think," he said, "and to be alone. It is a way I have when business troubles me." And bidding her "good night" he left her.
For a few weeks Winn worried over the suspicions of Weston & Hill's honesty that seemed like a cloud of danger, and then, to a certain extent, it passed away. To no one, not even Jess, did he dare confide them, but just drifted on, day by day, doing the duty he was paid to do. Each week came his pay-roll and salary remittance, and an assuring and pleasant letter from the firm. It also contained a request or hope that he would not forget to sell stock when he could. This latter, however, made no impression on Winn. Collectively, he had sold about one thousand shares to these islanders, and that he felt was enough. In fact, believing, as he had almost come to do, that the entire scheme was a gigantic swindle, it was certainly all he intended to sell, and more than he wished he had sold. Then there was another matter of serious interest, and that was Mona.
Between her and himself, these summer days, there had come a little bond of feeling, deep-rooted in her simple but passionate nature, and more lightly in his. To her it was a new wonder-world, and as each evening when he chanced to linger by the gate watching her, as she cared for the sweet williams, pinks, and peonies that grew in her dooryard, or later when he sat with her in the vine-hid porch, chatting of commonplaces or relating incidents of the great world outside, his earnest eyes, the melodious tones of his voice, and the careless, half cynical, half tender way he had of expressing himself, only increased the charm. Occasionally, on Thursday evenings, when her mother, as usual, made one of the little band who gathered in the church, they two would stroll over to the cliff beyond Norse Hill or up the road to Northaven to the old tide mill. On two occasions he had persuaded her to take her violin and visit the gorge with him, where she played at his bidding, her heart gladdened by the thought that he cared to hear her. But she preferred his poetic fancies and world-taught sayings to the violin, and since she was so charming and interested a listener, it was inevitable that he talked much. Another matter also troubled him seriously.
He had, at the beginning of their acquaintance, and from a desire to utter pleasant words to Mona, assured her that she was gifted with a remarkable talent for playing, and if she would but make the effort, the world would bow before her. It was a kindly speech, and charmed as he was by time, place, and the power of the old love songs she rendered with such exquisite feeling, he really meant it, little realizing its effect on her. Now that he did realize it, and could not fail to see that every word he uttered was considered by her as authoritative, he wished that he had been more cautious. Then again, he understood her better and saw what an ardent child of nature she was, and how her heart and soul vibrated to every pulse of the ocean and the mystic romance of the wild gorge she sought so often. To him now she seemed like a veritable nymph of old, or a mermaid, whose soul was attuned to the wild voice of wind and wave sighing through the rock-walled ravine and the thicket of spruce above it. For such a creature of moods and fancies to thrust herself into a merciless world, where sentiment was a jest and romance an illusion, seemed a sacrilege. And he was to blame for her wish to do so! Then again, he felt that if the world could but see and hear her, it must, perforce, crown her with the laurel wreath. True to his impulsive nature, in this as in all things, he alternated in his own opinions as to what was best for her.
And so the summer days passed, and Winn, half conscious that she was learning the sad lesson of love, and yet stifling his conscience with the feeling that he was only playing the rôle of big brother, which he had decided to adopt, allowed the (to him) pleasant pastime to continue.
It may be said that it was unfair for him, a polished man of the world, and knowing full well that there could be but one result to this delightful intimacy, to allow it to continue, and yet he did. And it must also be asserted, that under the same circumstances and like provocation, few men there are who would not do likewise.
One surprise came to him, however, for he had sent to the city for a book of instructions on the violin and a supply of new music, only to find, when he gave them to her, that she was unable to read a note.
"I told you," she said plaintively, "that I knew nothing about music except what Uncle Jess has taught me, and I wonder how you can think I play so well. If only I could go away and learn even a little, I should be so happy."
"Yes," he responded, smiling at her, for he had come to speak as he thought and felt, "and learn also that men admired you, and grow vain of your looks, and become one of the artful women of society, instead of sweet and pure-minded Mona. You are better off where you are, for here you are happy and care-free."
Then one evening came another, and more serious, revelation to him.
They had strolled up to the old tide mill, and sat watching the moon high overhead, outlining its path of silver sheen upon the rippled waters of the harbor, while he, as usual, was giving utterance to some of his delicately worded sayings.
"I do not understand," she said in response to one more pointed than the rest, "why you think so badly of womankind in the great world. Are they all so selfish, and artful, and deceitful, as you say? I have seen some who came here in their beautiful yachts, and they looked so nice in their white dresses, and so sweet and gentle, I envied them."
Winn looked at her and smiled.
"I have no doubt, little girl, you admired and envied them, and that they looked to you as beautiful and charming as so many fairies. That was the principal reason they came ashore—just to be seen and admired by you people here, who, they knew, never were, and, most likely, never would be, clad as they were. That is all these butterflies of fashion live for—to show off their beautiful plumage and be envied by others."
"Maybe you know them best," she responded regretfully, as if sorry he had spoiled an illusion, "but I thought them so beautiful and sweet and so like pictures in books, it seemed to me they must be as described there and never wicked or deceitful."
"And so you have been believing all you read in books, have you, little one?" he said, smiling again, "and that those show birds who lit on the island flew out of the pages of story books? And yet, the other day, when I told you about the nymphs and elfins, you did not believe me, Mona!"
"I have never seen those creatures," she replied, "and I have seen these."
"Neither have you seen God, or the Saviour, or the angels," he said, "and yet you believe they exist."
"I do," she answered firmly, "and I should go crazy with fear if I didn't. But your wonderful creatures, who lived so long ago, did not make this world, as God did."
"People believed they did in those days," he replied quietly, "and just as firmly as we believe God did."
She made no answer, for the subject was beyond her, but silently watched the beauteous moonlight picture before her.
"I should like to go into the great world," she said at last, as if that fascinated her, "and wear beautiful dresses and see those others wear, and hear that wonderful woman you told about play the violin, and watch them throw flowers at her. I should like to be one with the rest just for a little while, and then come back."
"If you did that you would never come back," he answered, "or if you did you would be miserable ever after."
"I should have to," she said, as another side of the question presented itself to her, "if I couldn't earn my living there."
"You would have to, surely," he answered slowly, thinking of some phases of city existence, but allowing no hint of them to escape him. "It is foolish to dream of these things, little girl," he continued, "for they are impossible. Even if you had the means to join the great throng of city revellers, you would, with your disposition, be wounded deep on all sides. The women would say spiteful things about you, and scratch you every way they could, as is their nature; and the men would fill your ears with subtle flattery, and each one spread before you the most insidious net ever woven by mortal brain. No, little sister, be content where you are, and if you are lonely, go to the cave and listen to the whisper of the fairies. They will never stab you to the heart, as the worldly women will. You are like a wild rose now, and as sweet and innocent. You say what you think and mean what you say. Your heart is tender and true and your thoughts pure and simple. You deceive no one, and would not, if you could."
"But might I not learn to play as the wonderful woman did," she asked stoutly, "and could I not earn my own living if I did? I need not know, nor care, what these spiteful women said about me, need I?"
Winn looked at her in surprise.
"And so this is the bee that has crept into the heart of my wild rose, is it?" he said. "You thirst for fame and the laurel wreath, do you, Mona? I thought I had come to know you well, little one," he continued tenderly, "but this surprises me. Do you know what it means, and that to win the world's applause you must study your art for years, and step by step win your way up the ladder, and that already ahead of you are hundreds who will miss no chance to push you backwards? And who will pay for all the cost of tuition and training you must go through, Mona?"
"Uncle Jess will," she answered simply, "if I ask him. He loves me."
Winn was silent, conscious that beside him was a creature as tender as a flower and as innocent, with a will to do and dare, or strive to do, what few women would, and in her heart was an ambition that, like the bee in the flower, would rob her of all life's sweetness.
"I am sorry," he said at last, "that you have this ambition. It is creditable to you, but hopeless. Put it out of your mind before it destroys your peace. Be your own sweet self here on the island, and some day you will learn to love one of its hardy sons, like David Moore, perhaps, and he will make you a home and strive for your happiness."
"I do not care for him, or any of the others," she answered, "and never shall."
It was not the first time he had mentioned young Moore to her, but never before in so serious a way, and it hurt.
"I am sorry," she continued, "that I told you what I have, but somehow I thought you understood me better than any one else. It is all right, however, and no doubt what you say is true."
He noticed there was a little quiver in her voice, and realized he had hurt her. He had, but not in the way he thought.
For a long time they sat in silence, watching the whitened ledges that bordered the island, the spectral spruces that grew to the right of where they were, the twinkling gleam of the lighthouse in the distance, and the shimmering path of moonlight across the harbor that ended at their feet.
"It's a beautiful night," said Winn at last, "and I hate to leave this spot, but I think it's time you were home."
And as he spoke he stooped, and, putting his hand under her arm, lifted her to her feet.
As he did so, a single tear fell upon his hand.